


Who's A Good Boy?

by kitsunequeen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Embarrassed Stiles, Fluff, Humor, Law Student Stiles, M/M, Misunderstandings, but Derek is really nice about it, dog owner Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunequeen/pseuds/kitsunequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to text Scott again, say that hey, on second thought, maybe the guy <em>is</em> really a serial killer, and to <em>pleasepleaseplease</em> do something. Unfortunately, the man would easily be able to read Stiles’ phone from his position, unless he awkwardly angled it away.</p><p>His skins starts to crawl when he sees the elevator is still four floors from his apartment. He could do an emergency stop, or push the button for the next floor, but the sudden change would look even more suspicious. Normally he dreads being stuck in the elevator with old Mrs. Matthews, but what he wouldn’t give right now to have her and her yappy little Chihuahua bustle in on the next floor…</p><p>He’s wrapped up in his thoughts when all the sudden one of the dogs gives a low growl, and a sharp, gruff voice orders, <em>“Sit.”</em></p><p>------</p><p>
  <em>"I'm completely exhausted, and when a big, badass-looking stranger gets on the elevator with two huge dogs and gruffly orders them to sit, I immediately drop to the ground, making said stranger laugh hysterically" au. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's A Good Boy?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Beth! I'm SO sorry this is late, but I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> [Based on this tumblr text post](http://today-ifuckedup.tumblr.com/post/122454788751/today-i-fucked-up-and-made-a-fool-of-myself).

**Stiles Stilinski [10:32 PM]**

_Scott_

_SCOTT_

_There’s a murderer in our building_

**Scott McCall [10:32 PM]**

_WHAT_

_WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME_

_CALL THE POLICE_

_TEXT YOUR DAD_

_STILES_

**Stiles Stilinski [10:33 PM]**

_WAIT NO_

_DON’T CALL THE COPS_

_NOT A REAL MURDERER_

_DON’T BE SO LITERAL_

_It’s just a hot guy_

_Who looks like he could bathe in your blood_

_And look really good while doing it_

**Scott McCall [10:33 PM]**

_Oh my god_

_Thanks for the heart attack_

_File under: things not to say when there’s a literal gang in town_

_But dude…_

_You should totally ask him out_

**Stiles Stilinski [10:33 PM]**

_Lol sorry man. And yeah, lemme just ask out the guy who looks like he could /murder me and bathe in my blood/. That’s exactly my type_

**Scott McCall [10:33 PM]**

_…Isn’t it?_

**Stiles Stilinski [10:34 PM]**

_Shut up._

_The elevator just got here. He’s getting on. I’ll be home in a few mins_

_Unless he murders me_

_DUN DUN DUNNNN!_

Scott sends him an eye-roll emoji, followed by a smirking one, which Stiles is pretty sure equals forgiveness for making Scott think he was about to be killed.

He still  _could_  be killed, though. The thing about Beacon Hills is that everyone knows everyone, especially in their apartment building, and Stiles has never seen this guy in his life.

Trust him, he’d remember.

The man is dressed in all black—tight jeans, leather jacket, leather shoes, leather  _gloves_ —and is giving off serious assassin vibes. His jawline, which, honestly, might be his weapon of choice, is sharp enough to cut glass. He’s got black hair that’s styled just right, a perfectly groomed layer of stubble, and dark, angry eyebrows. Top all of that off with the two dogs he’s got, each of whom is wearing a spiked collar, and which, frankly, look more like wolves than dogs, and Stiles is rightly wary.

And, hey, sure. Blame it on his collective four hours of sleep in the past two days, and today’s six Redbull and black coffee combos, but the guy really is starting to freak him out a little. Or a lot.

The man entered the elevator first, so he’s standing behind Stiles and a bit to the left, while one of his dogs breathes heavily right against the back of Stiles’ knees. Stiles tries very hard not to think about how sharp its teeth must be, or how fucking  _close_  they are, but he’s pretty much hyper-aware of everything around him.

Despite its incredible age and constant creaking, the elevator had never much bothered Stiles before, but now all he wants is to be back in his apartment, away from Mr. Hot and Dangerous and his freaking  _wolves_. They’re still six floors from his own, Stiles notes with despair. He’s growing antsier by the second, and wow, this is bad.

Stiles is probably being ridiculous. He knows that, alright?

But there’s a gang in town, and he’s wheedled plenty of horror stories out of his dad about them, so his sleep-deprived, caffeine-addled brain really doesn’t care much for logic right now.

To be fair, though, if he wants to reassure himself, all he has to do is look over at the man. He probably looks way less scary on a second glace. Like, maybe he happened to be making an annoyed face when Stiles looked at him, and now he’s grinning and petting his– _huge, fanged, vicious-looking_ –dogs. All Stiles has to do is turn around. Smile at the guy, even.

He can do this.

He bobs his head a little, readjusts his jacket, tries to make it look casual as he glances over his shoulder. He practically snaps his head back into place, screw subtlety, when he sees there’s something silver clasped tightly in the man’s hand. He doesn’t get a good enough look to tell if it’s a knife or a gun or  _what_ , but holy shit, he’s going to die. Won’t that be a fun court case? They’d probably think the guy killed Stiles while he was texting Scott, then took his phone and reassured Scott is was just some hot guy, not anyone to worry about. And again,  _holy shit–_ the papers will be more concerned about his murderer’s hotness than with Stiles’ death. 

Just his fucking luck.

He wants to text Scott again, say that hey, on second thought, maybe the guy  _is_  really a serial killer, and to  _pleasepleaseplease_  do something. Unfortunately, the man would easily be able to read Stiles’ phone from his position unless he awkwardly angled it away.

His skin starts to crawl when he sees the elevator is still four floors from his apartment. He could do an emergency stop, or push the button for the next floor, but the sudden change would look even more suspicious. Normally he dreads being stuck in the elevator with old Mrs. Matthews, but what he wouldn’t give right now to have her and her yappy little Chihuahua come bustling in…

He’s wrapped up in his thoughts when all the sudden one of the dogs gives a low growl, and a sharp, gruff voice orders, “ _Sit_.”  

Stiles obliges immediately, dropping to the floor like dead weight, and pulls his knees against his chest, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe if he obeys easily the man won’t kill him. Just rob him, maybe, or rough him up a little.

There are a few seconds of complete and utter silence, and Stiles doesn’t move a muscle.

Finally, after what seems like ages, there’s a huff from behind him. Stiles stays right where he is for a few more moments, but eventually he can’t take it anymore. Slowly, slowly, he looks over his shoulder, and is met with the faces of both dogs. Both dogs, who are right at his eye level. Sitting.

 _Wait_.

At a snail’s pace, he drags his eyes up the man’s body. When he reaches the guy’s hand, he realizes the silver thing is not, in fact, a weapon. It’s the dogs’ leash, which turns from rope to a chain at the end. He forces himself to keep going, and when his gaze reaches the man’s face, embarrassment washes over him.

The guy is  _laughing_.

His mouth is pressed thin, trying to hold it back, but his shoulders are shaking silently, and his green, brown,  _gold_ eyes—and really, how did Stiles miss  _those_  before?—are sparkling with amusement.

The man opens his mouth, apparently trying to say something, but immediately snaps it shut again, raising an arm to muffle his laughter.

Oh, Stiles was right. He  _is_  going to die.

Of embarrassment.

He slowly loosens his grip on his legs, running a nervous hand through his hair. Then he does what he does best–tries to laugh it off.

“You, um…” he says, mouth twisting for a moment. “You were talking to the dogs, right?”

The man, who had begun to regain his composure, squeezes his eyes shut, making them crinkle adorably as he laughs even harder.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirms. “Right. That, uh… makes a lot more sense.”

Just when he’s about to get up, the man reaches out a gloved hand.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, and the man raises one in return, shrugging. A peace offering, of sorts.

Stiles reaches out and takes the hand, pointedly ignoring how nice the cool leather feels against his skin.

“More sense than…” the man says, voice much less harsh now, “me ordering random strangers in the elevator to sit?”

“Random  _sleep-deprived_  strangers,” Stiles offers lamely, releasing the man and shoving both hands in his pockets.

The man ducks his head, failing horribly at hiding his smirk.

Stiles thinks maybe he’ll be a jerk, make a joke about if Stiles likes being ordered around or something equally douche-y, but when he looks up, the smirk has turned into a serious expression again. It’s not nearly as scary as before, now that Stiles has seen his adorable smile. Like, c’mon, the even guy has little bunny teeth. Why hadn’t he noticed any of this earlier?

“Well, uh,” the man says, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that, Mr…?”

“Stiles. I mean- uh, not  _Mr_. Stiles. Mr. Stilisnki. But not Mr. Stilinski. Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. Mr. Stilinski is my father. Well actually, Sheriff Stilinski is my father. But just… Stiles. Yeah.”

He glances back at the elevator doors, and they’re still two away from his floor. Oh, God.

“Nice to meet you,” the man says. “I’m Derek Hale. And Mr. Hale is my father.”

He winks, and Stiles wants to sink back down to the floor.

Then, after a moment, he realizes something that makes everything about a million times worse.

“Hale?” he blurts, before he can stop himself. “Like Laura Hale?”

Well, it’s not like Derek wasn’t going to tell his–sister? cousin?–about the crazy guy he just met in the elevator, anyway.

“You know Laura?” 

Stiles has no idea why he looks surprised, considering Stiles lives here, and Derek is the new, (not so) murderous visitor.

“Yeah, she lives across the hall. One of her—and your, I guess?—sisters is dating my friend Lydia.”

“Oh,” Derek says, and suddenly he’s smiling again. “Cora? Yeah, we share an apartment just outside of town. I moved in with her last week, so I’ve only met her girlfriend a few times, but she seems cool. A little scary, but cool.”

 _A little scary?!_  Stiles wants to demand.  ** _You_** _of all people think someone else seems a little scary?_

Granted, it’s Lydia, but still. Derek himself is the very definition of ‘scary but cool’.

Derek seems to pick up on what Stiles thinking, because his expression gets a little more serious when he says, “Sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to freak you out. My sisters are always saying I have a resting,” he pauses to roll his eyes distastefully, “ _bitchface_ , and Isaac here doesn’t like elevators, and he can get kinda grumpy around strangers. Right, bud?”

He leans down to scratch one of the dogs, whose tongue lolls out of its mouth as it rubs its muzzle against Derek’s hand, seeming infinitely less menacing now.

“Oh, it’s not-” Stiles starts, but isn’t sure how to refute it. Derek kind of  _does_  have a very scowly face, but it’s hot as hell, and there’s definitely nothing wrong with it. Besides, his smile more than makes up for it. “I mean- No. Totally my fault, man. Law school’s got me tired as fuck, and I drank more coffee today than should be legal. You looked all badass and I kinda let my imagination run away with me.”

The elevator  _finally_ dings, saving him from further explaining how he thought Derek was some knife-wielding maniac.

They step out into the hall, and walk to their respective doors. Derek knocks as Stiles fishes around for his keys.

“So uh, yeah,” Stiles says, as he finds the right key and fits it into the lock. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Was it?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles can’t help but laugh.

“Alright, wise guy, it was nice meeting you  _after_ I realized you and your dogs didn’t want to jump me.

It’s Derek’s turn to laugh, then.

“I really am sorry about that,” he says after a moment. “Do you think… maybe I could make it up to you, as long as I’m around? I’m staying here for the weekend. I could take you to lunch tomorrow, if you’d be up for it.”

Stiles just stares for a moment, because  _seriously?_  This guy, the smoking hot badass who smiles like the sun and loves dogs, wants to take Stiles out?

“Um,” he says, voice an octave higher than he would’ve liked. “You mean like… a, uh…”

“A date,” Derek finishes, nodding. “Only if you want to.”

“Oh, no,  _yeah_ ,” Stiles says quickly. “Um, yes. I totally want to. It’s a date.”

Right then Laura’s door swings open, and she stands there, smiling broadly, hair in a messy bun, and wearing pink pajama pants and bunny slippers. It’s a little hard to see the family resemblance.

“A date?” she asks, looking between them. “God, Der, you’ve been here five seconds and you’re already picking up my neighbors?”

Derek sighs loudly.

“Why do I visit you again?” 

“Because I have cuter neighbors than Cora,” she teases, pulling him inside.

“ _Laura_.”

Ah, there’s that murderous look again. Huh. Stiles actually finds it oddly endearing, now.

“Nah, it’s cool, dude,” Stiles says, opening the door to his own apartment. “I don’t mind being called cute.”

Derek huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“Pick you up at one?” he asks, nudging Laura out of the way. “We can go for a walk in Beacon Park, and to that little diner on third? Cora took me there last weekend, and they have the best curly fries in town.” 

This may just be the beginning of something beautiful, Stiles decides.

“Plus,” Derek adds, the hint of a smirk on his face, “they have decaf.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [stilesbansheequeen](http://stilesbansheequeen.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated<3


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